by Pat Schmatz
She turned around and bumped him, almost knocking the tray loose from his hands.
"You're crowding me, Travicus."
He fumbled and dropped his tray as she stepped around him. His plate clattered on the floor, and the fork flew behind the garbage can, and everyone nearby applauded.
"Clumsy much?" Cassidy pushed past him to dump her tray.
Travis's face was so hot, he was glad to have a reason to kneel on the floor. He slowly picked up his plate and silverware. By the time he got everything sorted and thrown away, Velveeta was gone.
He drifted through the afternoon on that splash of color. The way the sun came in at just the angle to catch the red in her hair. Usually things indoors didn't look that good.
He was just opening his locker after the last bell when Velveeta came skidding up.
"Listen to this," she said. "You'll never guess who just asked me out."
Travis's stomach dropped.
"Bradley Whistler." Velveeta nodded. "To the dance.
Can you believe that?"
"What'd you say?" asked Travis.
"What should I have said?"
"I don't know. Whatever you want, I guess."
Travis turned back to his locker. He took as much time as he could, straightening his books and pens, and then pulled his hoodie out and put it on. Velveeta stood there with her hands on her hips, watching him. She fired a direct gaze into his eyes, like a super- power telescope.
He looked down so she wouldn't see his face getting red.
"I told him I'd think about it," she said. "Are you coming to the library with me?"
"What for?"
"Words! Come on, we'll go over the ones I passed you this morning."
A new wave of September heat radiated up from the sidewalk. Travis didn't really feel like doing words, but he wanted her to make him laugh, and call him Travasaurus.
He wanted her to say she'd never go to a dance with Bradley in a million years.
He kicked a rock in front of them, hoping she'd kick it next. She didn't.
Once they got to the library, Velveeta was all business. "Let's see the book."
Travis handed it over.
"Look, the whole first paragraph is uncircled! You're ready to read it."
He shook his head. Going down a list, one word a time, that was one thing. But to read a sentence out loud, thrashing through wave after wave of those words?
He was not ready for that.
"Shut up!" said Velveeta. "You know every word here.
Come on, read it!"
Travis shook his head harder.
"Okay, wait. I know. We'll do it a line at a time. I'll read it, then you read it back. You can do that."
The last part sounded like Mrs. Keatley. Come on, Travis. You can do THAT.
Velveeta read the first line, bubbling the words out like liquid candy, easy easy.
She handed the book to him.
He looked at that first line and didn't see any words. Just a stream of black marks. He closed the book.
"Travis, come on. You didn't even try."
Try. That word torched fire- hot. He took the book and shoved it into his backpack.
"I've got to go."
"I can't believe you're not even going to try."
Travis stepped back, away from her, away from the table, away from everything he wanted to hit or throw. He snatched his backpack and walked out. Her words and the way she said them burned through his chest.
Try. Stupid bluefish, that's all he'd ever be. Thought a few words meant he could read. TRY, Travis. Can't you at least try? He never should have told her about the lists of words. It would just give her and Bradley something to laugh about when they went to the dance.
on MONDAY
I was mad before we even got to the library because when I told Travis about Bradley asking me to the dance, he acted like he couldn't care less. Not like I thought he'd say, "No, go with me instead," because that would be un- Travis-like. But I did think he'd say something, or at least make a face.
Because of how it was at lunch when I almost smacked him chin side with my tray. I thought he was reaching out to touch my hair. Like in a romantic- movie way. I get it now why people say someone is hot because all of a sudden Travis made me have a fever. Kawoof, furnace on.
Look, bottom line, I gotta get real here. Travis would never like me in a romantic- movie way. Not Vida Wojciehowski, Russet Lowlife Trailer-Trash Loser and half sister of Jimmy the butt. You know what Travis was doing when I thought he was reaching for my hair? He was flicking away a trailer-court cootie.
Still, on TUESDAY MORNING
Jimmy came over for dinner, so I spent the night here at your place. I hate my life. I especially hate how I feel when Jimmy's around, like the scummiest of scum- sludge bottom- feeder bad.
It stormed all night. I tried to remember what you used to say about how storms are magical and beautiful and awe-some. But the thunder growled and barked, and I was all by myself and the electricity went off, so I couldn't watch a movie, and I couldn't find a candle or a flashlight. I started to feel like a bad thing was out there, bamming on the sides of your trailer. Howling at me. Every time I looked at a window, I expected Jack
Nicholson's face to show up saying "Heeeeeeere's Johnny," and then he'd chase me through mountains of snow with an ax. I shoved some furniture in front of the door in case the double bolt broke.
Now it's light outside, sort of. At least it's not night anymore, but it's still stormy. The lights are back on, but I don't know what time it is. You know what? I'm not leaving here until Jimmy's truck is gone. I think I will have a Velveeta movie day.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Travis let the gray drizzle fall on him. He didn't want to go to school, and he couldn't stay home. Grandpa was still in bed and was probably going to miss work. Good thing Travis hadn't gotten all on board with Grandpa's changes, because everything looked to be going off board pretty fast.
Grandpa hadn't made dinner in days, they were running out of groceries, and all the asking about homework had stopped. The whole thing had lasted, what, maybe a month?
Travis shoved himself away from the bridge railing with a sigh. He dragged his feet through town. For a while there, he'd even thought he could be a new Travis. But really, everything was the same, especially him. Same old bluefish.
He got to school late, after the first bell. On his way to social studies, he ran into McQueen.
"Mr. Roberts, pick your head up there and look around - oh. Something wrong?"
Travis shrugged.
"Problem with the reading?"
McQueen could make mud clump up in Travis's throat like nobody else.
"Come by after fourth period. Bring the book, and we'll see what tripped you up." McQueen nodded, making his eyes big. "Really, we'll fix it."
Travis paused outside Gordon's room. If Velveeta poked him in the neck, he'd just tell her to quit it. She could mind her own business for once.
Her seat was empty, though, and relief washed all over him along with a taste of disappointment.
Bradley snagged Travis in the hall between bells.
"Where's Velveeta?" he asked. "Is she sick?"
"I don't know."
At least Bradley didn't know, either.
"I'll sit by you at lunch, okay?"
"Can't, I'm busy," said Travis.
Good thing he had McQueen. Anything was better than listening to Bradley talk about Velveeta. After fourth period, McQueen sat on the desk in front of him, feet on the chair.
"So what's the problem, Mr. Roberts? Something must have happened. Give me a clue. Sounds like?"
"It's not reading," said Travis. "I mean sure, I learned some words. But when I look at the page, they don't look like anything."
"Ah," said McQueen. "You tried to jump ahead."
Wasn't Travis's idea to jump ahead. That was
Velveeta's idea.
"Hm. If you insist on jumping, let's make a jump y
ou can do. Because getting discouraged is not on the program. Wait right here."
McQueen came back from his office witha bright orange-and-green book. He opened it in the middle and pointed at the sentence above the picture.
"Read this."
"The. Bl. Blue. Dog. Is. In." said Travis.
"Good. Now do it again."
McQueen made him do it three times. Then he said,
"Read it like you're telling me something I need to know."
"The blue dog is in."
"Read it like your hair's on fire."
"The blue dog is in." Travis said it a bit louder, a bit faster.
McQueen grinned and closed the book. "Okay, that probably is how you'd say it if your hair was on fire. Anyway, that's what most kids learn toread on. Took you maybe three minutes."
"But that's a book for little kids."
"Right. Remember when you asked why we're not using an easier book?
Because you're not a child, and this is too easy. We're using a book at your level, and it's hard, and you're doing just fine. Now, go get some lunch."
Travis was halfway out the door when McQueen stopped him.
"Mr. Roberts, is there anything else bothering you?"
Travis met McQueen's hypno eyes, and a shiver ran over him. He couldn't answer.
"If there's anything I can do, let me know. Meanwhile, show up tomorrow and we'll tackle more of Haunt Fox."
As Travis walked home after school, he remembered asking Grandpa for help with homework, way back before he was officially a bluefish. You're too little for homework.
What's wrong with those teachers? Go out and play. He never asked if Travis's homework was done, not once.
Not until he started his whole "I'm in AA. Let's talk about everything" thing.
Which was now over. The front door was unlocked, and Grandpa was in the recliner, watching TV. Travis went directly to the refrigerator. Nothing in there but O'Doul's and ketchup.
"We're out of groceries," he said.
No answer.
"Even milk."
Thick stale smoke filled the house, and several empties cluttered the coffee table.
"Why aren't you at work?"
"'Why aren't you at work?' " Grandpa whined, mocking him. "Is that all you care about, if I'm buying groceries or not? I suppose you expect me to make your dinner.
You don't care if I'm sober. You just care who's feeding your mug."
"At least do that," muttered Travis.
"You got something to say, speak up."
"Why bother?" Travis raised his voice. "You don't care."
"I don't care?" Grandpa banged down the footrest of the recliner. "I've been taking care of your butt with no help for the last ten years, and I don't care?"
"You only did it because you had to."
"Oh, yeah? Says who?"
"You. I heard you say it to Dave last summer. You were sitting on the porch.
You said you got saddled with me and never had a say in it. It's not my fault you're stuck with me."
"No, but it's your fault you're a shit about it." Grandpa stalked around the counter. "And it's my fault to think it'd make any difference to you if I quit drinking. Here, you're a baby? You need somebody to feed you?"
Grandpa yanked open the cupboard, then the fridge.
He squeezed a line of ketchup on a cracker and poked it under Travis's nose.
"There, feed your face on that."
Travis smacked the cracker backhand, and it flew.
Then he swung hard, connecting with Grandpa's jaw.
Grandpa went down like a bag of rocks. Travis turned away, slapping his hands flat on the counter so they couldn't do anything else.
His face flamed. His breath came ragged and hard. He stared at the faded yellow design beneath his hands.
"Feel any better?" Grandpa's voice came from the floor.
"No." Travis said it to the counter.
The fire juice raged through his body. His knees shook so hard he'd fall if he didn't have the counter to hold. He didn't want to see blood or a bruise or a scared- eyed face.
The sludge oozed in, cooling the fire and churning his stomach.
"Me neither." Grandpa got to his feet.
Travis kept his eyes down and his hands flat as the keys jingled and the door slammed. The truck started up, and Travis was alone.
Later on TUESDAY in Nightmare Land
I watched To Kill a Mockingbird this afternoon. It made me so sad and so lonely because I used to have someone like Atticus and now I don't. I don't have anybody. I fell asleep crying, and somewhere in my sleep, I heard this banging, and I managed to unstick my eyelids, only I thought maybe I was still asleep, because just like in a really bad nightmare, someone was standing in the doorway.
"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my father's trailer?"
Sylvia didn't yell it. She said it in this mean, low voice like she was about to slit my throat wide open. She looked even meaner than she did at the funeral. I scrabbled up off the couch and tried to make some words, but I couldn't do it.
"How did you get in here?"
Because I'm stupid and I was barely awake, I pointed at the key on the counter. She grabbed the key and pointed at the door with it.
"Get out of here."
So I did.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Travis wrenched his eyelids open. Gray light oozed in through the yellow towel, and a growl of thunder slunk around the house. Storming again.
Grandpa hadn't come home, still hadn't been there at midnight when Travis went to bed. He untangled himself from the blankets and listened. No sounds.
What if Grandpa's jaw was broken, or he'd gotten drunk and arrested or in a crash? What if he never came back?
Then Travis smelled smoke. He rolled out of bed, pulled on sweats, and opened his door. Grandpa sat at the kitchen table. No black eye, no broken jaw. Not even a bruise.
"I heard you whimpering in there," he said. "Bad dream?"
Travis turned into the bathroom. He stayed in the shower for a long time. When he opened the door, Grandpa was still sitting there, staring at him.
"Sit down here, boy," he said. "I've got some things to say."
"I have to get ready for school."
"You've got time. Sit down."
Lightning flashed in the morning gray. A wind breezed through the open window, slicing through the clouds of cigarette smoke. Travis sat across from Grandpa in jeans and no shirt, the wet towel still around his neck.
Grandpa flicked his lighter off and on. He stubbed out the last of his butt.
"Whoever taught you to fight did a hell of a job," he said, touching his jaw.
"Gave me a goose egg." Looking closer, Travis could see the swelling.
"Sorry."
"No, you're not. Listen, we need to get some things straight here."
Grandpa lit up another cigarette. Travis leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. He didn't want to hear it. Not with dried ketchup still stuck on the wall and a storm outside getting ready to pounce. Thunder snarled past the window.
"We had to move. I was three months behind in rent.
Your dad's life insurance is almost gone. This house is cheap, I got the job at the bakery, and AA meetings are close. That's where I went last night."
Relief and irritation swirled through Travis, twisted his stomach. Rent, insurance, AA, whatever. Drinking or not drinking. Rosco was gone. He and Grandpa didn't like each other. That's just how it was.
Grandpa shoved his chair back and walked over to stand at the window, staring out and smoking. The morning sky darkened, as if someone had just thrown a blanket over the barely risen sun.
"That's not really what I have to tell you."
He took a deep drag on his cigarette and then crushed the end as he sat back down. He picked up the lighter and flicked. The flame came up, blue on the inside with bright yellow quivering and dancing at the tip. Something sat heavy on the table be
tween them, something bad. The smell of it filled the room, choking Travis, making it hard to breathe.
"Gotta do it," said Grandpa softly. He set the lighter down, put both hands flat on the table, and looked Travis full in the eyes. "Rosco. I killed him."
The words hit Travis like a slap on the face. He sucked his breath in and held it.
"Didn't mean to. I backed out the drive. I thought he'd gone with you to the swamp."
Travis stared, his air slow- leaking out.
"I didn't even look, and you know how Rosco wouldn't move unless you made him."
Travis shook his head no, but he could see Rosco sprawled in that sunny spot on the drive, too lazy to even twitch an ear.
"I rushed to clean everything up before you got home. Put his body in the back of the truck and ran away to hide it."
Rosco's body limp and dead. Tongue hanging out, blood on the gravel.
"Buried him on the back edge of Lenski's cornfield."
Travis stood, knocking his chair over. He turned into his room, shut the door, and slid to the floor, holding his head in his hands.
Rosco. Run over in his own driveway, just because Travis was too selfish to take him to the swamp. Because he wanted to see the foxes. Stay, Travis had told him, and Rosco had stayed.
Ba- bam - the bedroom door vibrated, and Travis jumped, his hands flying off his ears.
"Get out here," said Grandpa. "No hiding. We're going to deal with this."
Travis stood up and threw the door open.
"You did it on purpose!" he yelled.
"I didn't!" Grandpa yelled back, his face boiling red. "I loved that old hound before you were even born."
Travis pushed past Grandpa, out to the front porch.
The wind was electric with threat, and lightning flickered.
He pressed against the house, arms crossed over his chest, trying to get the pictures out of his head. A jagged crack lit across the gray western sky, followed by a sharp crack of thunder. Hailstones dropped, popping off the sidewalk.